Free Squirm: virgin captive of the billionaire biker tentacle monster (The Squirm Files) by Cari Silverwood

Chapter 1
     
    Virginia swept back her long , blonde hair and smiled as enticingly as she could at the man on the other side of the chain mesh gate. Her little, black dress was fine but the six inch, red stilettos were going to kill her any second. He grinned back, anchoring his fingers high in the mesh, leaning on the gate, and exuding eau de biker. The muscle of his flexed and tattooed bicep shone under the florescent light.
    “ C’mon in. We don’t bite much. Name’s Jace.”
    She breathed in again, swooned, then swiftly recovered and slipped past Jace into the garage.
    Eau de Biker. Mmm . Oil, leather, and beer smells always did it to her. Her panties had wet through in an instant.
    But, she had a job to do.
    The garage was dark, dingy and filled with testosterone-hyped, tatted-up bikers. They roamed across the concrete floor checking out the chromed bikes like a pack of thirsty, hungry snakes let loose on a Sunday picnic of virginal, squeaky mice.
    She shook her head, knowing she ’d imagined that with way too many adjectives. Sometimes her imagination went a little ga ga.
    Past the knowledge that she was here to look for Cyndie, she wondered, ever so hopefully, if among these men she would find her holy grail – what she’d been saving herself for from the day she opened the pages of her first romance novel – the man with the ten inch purple-headed schlong.
    Fabio with his flowing locks could take a hike.
    “Whatcha want, beautiful?” Jace didn’t move from his gate propping position and the space on the floor left over from men, machines, and crates was barely wide enough for both of them. She craned her head back.
    Tallish. Check. Built like a bull. Check. Were there tingles in her downstairs department? Mmhmm. Check. Her pearly gates had gone into override and the doors were ready to burst open.
    His crotch? Over the years she’d developed a package bulge versus true schlong-length chart. The holes she’d had to drill in men’s toilet doors... But at least her carpentry skills were maxed out and she could now construct a bookshelf all by herself. Should she look?
    Tongue on lip, her gaze strayed down his sculpted body over the oil stains on his T-shirt, past the splatters from spilled pizza, lower. Chest. Hips . She licked her lips but braked, restraining herself from venturing further. She didn’t want to seem too eager.
    The gleam in his eyes said he ’d noticed.
    “ I’m looking for my friend, Cyndie.”
    “ Don’t know the name. She’s probably not here.” He leaned in even closer until she could count the bristles on his poorly shaven chin. “But you’re pretty. You can stay. Turn around and spread your legs so I can fuck you up against the wire. I’ll get my cock in you so deep it’ll need a directory to find its way out.”
    “ That sounds...dangerous.”
    “ I am,” he rumbled sexily, like a waterfall that’s had a dam collapse upstream and is about to flood and destroy the village of peasants further downstream...many of whom are poor and in desperate need of medical attention.
    She inhaled his delicious male scent again. “Why do you smell so good?”
    “ This.” He held up a small bottle. Eau de biker.
    “ Fuck. I knew it,” she whispered. “What’s the pay?”
    “ For wall fucking?”
    “ Yes.”
    “ Zero. But you get to be mine and we can have ten kids and though I may die early from multiple gunshot wounds we’ll never regret a single moment of our existence.”
    “ I see. Tempting.” She sucked on her lip, thinking. Cut to the chase. “Schlong size?”
    His brows shot up. “Oh baby. Nine inches.”
    An inch short. Her heart sank and she sighed sadly. “I’m sorry, Jace. Ask me again tomorrow.”
    The garage door wound up, creaking like an armored tank in the throes of having a baby tank by painful cesarean section. Jace ignored it. The burst of light through the door, from glaring headlights, made most of the men rise to their feet.
    “ Cyndie left